


Flame

by Rhigama



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood
Genre: And it’s like for a hot second, Angst, But it's at the end., Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluffity fluff, Gender Neutral, Grieving, Honestly I added the others because their names are mentioned, Multi, Only you and Roy talking in this, Reader Insert, Reader is a Colonel, Reader is related to Gracia, Subtle Romance, Suggestion of love lost and again found., Talking about the circumstances surrounding the death of Maes, and kissing, like really, there will be crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhigama/pseuds/Rhigama
Summary: A promotion and the anniversary of your brother-in-law's death brings your path to cross with that of an old flame.This time, you won't get burned.Reader x Roy Mustang
Relationships: Reader x Roy Mustang
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shunshin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shunshin/gifts).



> Rhiga: And the first ever request I’ve posted goes toooooo- REDMOOG! Much love sweets <3 x3 
> 
> Originally was going to make this ‘male x mustang’ but I decided to go gender neutral. I might have bent the timeline up a bit from canon, but it does basically keep in line with the events anyway. This is some good ole’ fashioned comfort fluff, with the ‘angst/hurt’ aspect stemming from the pain of loss.
> 
> SO WHAT IF ITS TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AT THE END BITE ME >:D

Flame

If ever you were to be accused of one thing or another, it’d probably be that you seemed to rise in ranks too quickly for the comfort of certain senior staff.

As an alchemist you began with a leg up on others in the Amestrian Military. You started out with the base rank of ‘major’. With a thirst for progress which could be photographed, your ambition and attentiveness to detail turned you into the rising star of Southern Command. Also having come from the south (where it’s hotter than the devil’s cock) you found yourself freezing a bit when you were transferred to Central.

Your elation at being transferred as recognition for you accomplishments was dampened by the weather.

It.

Was.

Fucking.

FREEZING.

As such, it was a bit funny that the newcomer walked in on day one wearing the black trench coat normally reserved for colder months as part of the average uniform. There are the usual number of whispers as you shivered from the entrance to your new office, schooling your features into that of abject boredom. Having arrived in Central City a week ago to get your living and work arrangements in order, you had a chance to learn where everything is. As it’s reaching autumn now and would still be hot down south by the desert encapsulating Rush Valley, you were freezing your nips off where the temperature dipped to the upper 20’s. Which you cannot be blamed for considering 'cold', but they were used to that around here and it brought a nice little frost under the woolen grey sky. 

So naturally, everyone native to this area of Amestris was cooing over how crisp a day it was. You were already sick of hearing it. Talking about the weather was a way for most of the women around here to ingratiate themselves with others. Your office had the thermostat tuned up slightly higher, and your secretary— a buxom brunette in her late twenties—seemed to find this agreeable, as she was always chilly herself. You marched by her without a care in the world and she blinked up from her work. Shortly you hung up your coat and deposited yourself behind your desk, sighing upon noticing the number of documents already stacked tidily upon the open plateau of your inbox. The secretary, Cadie Klaryns, came walking in with a salute.

“Good morning, Colonel!” She greeted cheerily, glossy lips forming a coquettish smile. “I have today’s schedule prepared if you’d like to hear it.”

“Go ahead.” You responded, barely glancing up as you popped open your alchemist watch with a faint ‘click’, checking the time as Cadie’s voice melded into your consciousness. Today being your first day, it wasn’t a very populous schedule. Thank fucking god for small favors. “Thank you, Mrs. Klaryns. Ah,” You paused, eyes lingering upon the rolled-up paper under her elbow. “Is that today’s issue?”

“Oh, yes it is.”

“I have a silly request, then.”

“Anything!”

“My previous assistant used to read the headlines out to me when her paperwork was done while I worked on my own. Would you be willing to do that for me until I find a dedicated assistant?”

Cadie was surprised at your politeness. You weren’t nearly as demanding as most are around here. But then, they were informed that you’re kind of an odd duck anyway. “That’s…not the strangest request I’ve gotten, and I’d be happy to do so right now.” She sat down with a creak of leather upon cloth, and unrolled the black and white copy of today’s news. “Let’s see here—ah. ‘ _Charity Auction Breaks Records with Over One Million in Earnings’._ My goodness, that’s incredible!” She skimmed the article and you cleared your throat, disinterested. “Oh hahah, my apologies. Next is _‘Alligators in the Central Sewer System, Myth or Reality?’,_ then we haaave…”

As Cadie listed them off, you listened and began filling out forms. Nothing serious, mostly mindless boilerplate stuff that had to be turned in to HR before signing out for the day. Signature after signature, you remained tuned in to the pleasantly soft quality of Cadie’s voice. “…murderer of Brigadier General Maes Hughes, who was promoted posthumously after—”

“- Cadie.”

“Yes?”

“What about Hughes?”

“Ah.” She got sad rather fast, easily ignoring how you dropped the formal 'Ms. Klaryns' in favor of her given name. “Such a good man. I couldn’t believe, Lieutenant Maria Ross of all people! She was always so sweet. Still waters run deep, wouldn’t you agree Colonel?”

“I would.” You tapped your pen, lashes lowered as you eyed nothing in particular. There was this jagged shard twisted in your chest at the thought of the Hughes murder. You had your pick of moving either to Central or Northern Command where you would’ve been granted Colonel instead of Lieutenant Colonel, but Gracia is your sister and you wanted to live closer to her. Your niece Elicia too, she needed more family to grow up around. More loved ones and stability in their lives. Also, fuck the north. You are not some ice-veined northerner. Central is at least tolerable.

The work day progressed as to be expected, and you worked your arms through the woolen tunnels of your coat sleeves on the way out. Your breath puffed out diffuse streams into the stagnant air of dusk. Since it was an obscure holiday people were mostly cooped up inside and certain shops were closed, but you got in your car and swung by a florist before heading anywhere else. A jingle announced your presence, and a young man's voice sang out from the back, “Be right with yooou~!” You gave a nasal grunt in response and realized, belatedly, that this was foolish. Flowers would freeze over and die much sooner, and tomorrow was the autumn equinox. The first frosts already arrived.

“Sorry about that, can I help with anything?”

He was cute. ‘Cute’ is the best description. Cinnamon doe eyes, short black hair, a tan complexion. Some baby fat clung to his jaw and filled out the rosy cheeks below high cheekbones. Yeah, ‘cute’ ain’t your cup of tea. “I uh…I was searching for something to leave for a friend, but I don’t want it to wither.”

The shop boy caught your drift. “How about a holly or evergreen wreath?” He motioned to the ones strung up behind the counter. “We’ve got a few sizes. Any would survive the cold.”

“Ah…yeah, sure. That middle one. But would you change the bow? Something less frilly, I think. Dealer’s choice.”

“Actually, I have one I was finishing up in the back. I can put one of these other bows on it, should be finished in about ten minutes. Would that be acceptable?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back in ten.” You turned on your heel and left, angling for the café across the street. The streets were nearly deserted, with a wind sighing through the gaps of the brownstones on either side of the pristine road. You felt it pass straight through your soul in some ways, punctuating the loneliness you felt upon marking the date.

The café was warm, fragrant and welcoming though. Several patrons huddled around hot drinks and pastries and listened to the radio playing a staticky tune. All civilians. There were a few spared looks at your military uniform barely concealed beneath the black wool coat. You went to the counter and ordered tea along with a small bag of cake pops, one in each flavor. Lingering along the wall at the end of the coffee bar, you lazily skimmed the surroundings out of habit. Border skirmishes down south had you constantly keeping your head on the swivel, though it was somewhat of an unconscious habit that barely dulled with time and promotions which shifted you out of the line of fire. Your achievement was based on combat merit and distinguishing yourself as a person of outstanding judgement.

Your judgement, you reflected as you would shortly load into the car with your bought goods, did not extend to your love life. You adjusted the mirror and spied the wreath propped in the back seat. A quick shift of the gears and you were rolling away down the road, following an old sense of direction which also never faded. You didn’t like Central, but you grew up here and knew it like the back of your hand. Few streets changed.

The only real things which ever changed around here were people and laws. The streets were always the same in this sector, the expensive brownstones were meticulously maintained, and the graveyard you shortly arrived at was pristine as any military graveyard. Your vehicle was the only one in a leaf-blown lot, faded white lines marking the divides of car spaces. You left it with your tea and the wreath looped around the crook of an elbow, and meandered your way through to the one gravesite you bothered visiting. Upon rounding a gnarled old oak clinging to its shaggy head of golden leaves, you noticed a familiar person lingering at the foot of the grave in a black trench of his own.

He turned his head and captured you with those gorgeous gimlet eyes that always made your heart flinch into a flutter.

Roy Mustang. Your old flame who is not 'cute'. He is a grown ass man. He is mature, he is still handsome, he is still insanely fuckable. And he hasn't been yours for years.

“Hey.” He greeted solemnly, not even attempting to inject a sense of cheeriness into his low timbre. You nodded your head once in reply while tilting back the paper cup of tea into a sip, and then unloaded the fragrant evergreen wreath with its pastel yellow bow. You placed it upon Maes’s grave and stepped back beside the body you knew better than these streets, your shoulder a few inches below his. Roy was always taller. Today he didn’t feel it. Today you were both dragged down by the same sense of mournful loss.

“He always said you’d make your way to Central.” Mustang said softly, eyes lowered to the wreath on the grave. “Yeah. Shame he wasn’t here to greet me with a big fat, ‘told ya so, also here are pictures of your sister and niece you didn’t ask to see.’” You shook your head. “Fuck.”

A short laugh, bitter as the frost underfoot. “I know. Pissed me off when he did shit like that. Now that it won’t happen anymore, I miss that about him.”

“Gracia brought Elicia to stay with her Grandmother on Friday. She barely answered her phone on the last few rings when I called on my break. From the looks of it, she hasn’t been down to visit yet.” You voiced this morosely, checking to make sure the gravesite was well kempt as usual. Roy or another must have wiped the headstone down, it was very tidy. “She pines for him still, though she’s good at hiding it. Give her a bottle of merlot, a good book and about 48 more hours, she’ll be back to herself again.”

“Yeah well, your sister’s always been a strong one. Hughes and I have that in common, we gravitate towards strong people.”

That was meant for you. The way he said it, you knew, oh you _freaking_ knew. You edged a peek towards him out the corner of an eye, noticing he was doing the exact same thing.

“Hilarious.”

“I’m not laughing.”

A moment of silence. You took this chance to smile faintly at the headstone.

_‘We love you, Maes. So many still love you. I’m going to keep my promise. Sis will be fine, guarantee it. Roy and I—’_

Inner monologue severed. Why were you involving Roy?

Oh, right. Because he made the same promise.

_‘Roy and I will watch over her and Elicia. I know you’re looking after them in your way too, but I wish you wouldn’t, you idiot busybody. Go rest for once and let us do our job. They’ll see you again when they’re old and gray. We_ all _will.’_

The familiar warmth prickling in your eyes, the wetness, the slight throb of your sinuses that heralded the coming of tears. You did not let them fall. You have practice in denying yourself a good cry.

A warm hand found yours and clutched on, giving a firm squeeze. The minute sniffle you detected indicated that Roy was having a similarly hard time. You softened and squeezed his hand back. “I didn’t see your car.”

“Ah, yeah. Being repaired after a nasty run in with Scar. I asked a friend to drop me off.” Riza probably, you knew that also. Him and Hawkeye were thick as thieves, but lately she was assigned to the Fuhrer’s office. Roy was very alone these days.

Come to think of it, so were you.

“Well, come on. I drove. I’ll bring you home. It’s a long walk to your place and it’s colder than a witch’s tit out.”

“You just got here; don’t you want to stay longer?”

“No. I’ve already said what I need to say to him. Let’s go. I don’t think the frozen grass needs either of our dumb asses watering it.” With our tears, was the remainder of that sentiment. Roy scoffed out a chuckle and followed, thumbing the corner of an onyx orb. Everything about him was familiar, from the weight of his footsteps at your side to the smell of his cologne when in the car, Roy was once home. Everything about him was heart wrenchingly familiar.

The one thing you _couldn’t_ remember about him anymore is why you both broke it off in the first place.

The car ride was silent, with both of you marinating in graveyard misery. You offered Roy a sip of your tea. He accepted and lingered his apathetic gaze upon your form while you stared through the windshield at a red light, flicking on the blinker and switching lanes until you reached the turn-off to his town house. Roy lived in an area mostly populated by active duty military officials. You weren’t able to get in there because the apartments and town houses were all inhabited, but your new place was pleasant and not far from Gracia’s.

“Come in for a while.”

You blinked up from the steering wheel after pulling into the parking spot in front of his stairs. Roy’s expression was softened, a little pleading, a bit too sad to refuse. Your heart ached too, it ached clean up into the base of your throat as though you’d eaten something wretched which disagreed with you. A nod, and you’d twist the key in the ignition to kill the engine, grabbed your tea and the packet of cake pops, and locked up the car. There were a handful of stony steps that your boots traversed up after Roy’s heels, and shortly the door closed behind you.

Within it was dark, the shades drawn across shuttered windows. Roy’s home was in a perpetual state of ‘lived in’, the epitome of a bachelor pad which never experienced the finesse of an interior decorator beyond whoever staged the place for purchase. The couch was rarely used but a recliner had a very smushed pillow against one arm, and there was a short glass beside a bottle of Stray Dog Scotch. You smiled wryly. “I see your housekeeper is ill.”

“Actually, I have a lady come through once a week. Ever since Hawkeye got reassigned, I have to work through every meal to keep up. Cleaning isn’t a priority.”

“But scotch is?” You asked, dangling the old glass by your fingertips. He took it from you and walked into the kitchen. “Scotch is _always_ a priority. Would you like some?"

“No thank you. Also, who knew? The almighty Flame Alchemist is well on his way to becoming a lush.”

“Much as I’d like to agree, I can’t stay nearly as drunk as I’d like to.” He sighed out, returning from the kitchen, shucking off his coat and dropping his weight on the couch. You sat beside him, holding your tea and placing the small paper bag aside with a crinkle. Your own coat was already hung up. “Alcoholism isn’t a viable path to the Fuhrer’s office.”

“Definitely not. He’s more of a teetotaler.” You offered yours, which barely had a few sips taken and remained hot. “Days like today, though…” Roy began, noticing how his much warmer fingers covered yours when he accepted the cup. “Days like today, I could drink a river worth of whiskey. The way Armstrong reacted, Dr. Knox, the Elrics…”

Roy was more wounded than any of them knew, and you could decipher that straight away. He choked slightly at the end. The article in question had been about how the Flame Alchemist char broiled the alleged murderer of the late Maes Hughes: Second Lieutenant Maria Ross. She was deep fried in an alleyway and based on the rumors roaming Central Command you heard in passing, he gave zero fucks and acted very self-righteous about acquiring such vengeance.

When the ravenette put your tea aside and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees; head now in his hands, you understood how badly it ate at him. You may not be made aware of the intricacies, but wasn’t it enough to know that Maria Ross, a trusted soldier, had been the one? That he burnt her to a crunchy black crisp in the name of a man so many knew and adored? Your brother-in-law, avenged… _no._ A thing about this felt wrong. You were torn, but you placed a hand on his back quite the same and rubbed in a slow circle. “Roy,” You began softly, and sniffled. “Roy, it hurts.”

A nondescript sound stifled into his palms, the hot prickling sensation made your eyeballs water. You tried once more. “ _Fuck_ Roy you aren’t the only one who hurts, y’know?!”

Seeing him like this, it wrenched that shard in your heart. Providing you could keep it in, it didn’t hurt so bad. Don’t touch it, don’t _acknowledge_ that you’re meant to be in pain. Repression is the answer.

Wrong. Repression is _not_ the answer.

Today you cried. Today you grabbed your old flame and pulled him close without fear you’d get burned and pressed your lips to his temple then his cheek, and let your own saline drops patter the knees of your uniform. Blue spots soaked into a richer saturation. You could only see the bloodshot black eyes floating right before your own optics and sprinkled more kisses on his tear streaked face. You tasted salt on your lips and cared not that it replaced the herbal flavor of your tea. Roy entwined his arms around your middle and pushed his face into your neck, his shoulders shuddering with suppressed sobs.

You nosed into his hair and squished your lids shut, trying to will the tears away before they completely screwed your sinuses and you couldn’t smell him anymore. He smelled so _good_. Like home, and you’d been homesick longer than you knew.

Another pain welled up, a peculiar ache, another sadness and longing alongside the first ones. Two soldiers hurting so badly for so many reasons, the only thing that made sense was to wail and clutch onto the warmest thing available.

You don’t account for how long passes in one another’s arms, grasped together and sniffling uselessly. He finally shifted and raised his head, forehead rested to your own. A large, calloused palm placed over the back of your head and down to your neck. Your eyes were point blank to his, seeing in their inky depths a question you’ve seen before.

_‘Stay?’_

He wanted you to remain with him. You knew the look, but it wasn’t borne of lust. The hint of a nod felt more than seen with your foreheads together confirmed your decision. He tilted in and kissed you, soft and sad and full of the same longing you knew in your heart of hearts. You kissed back and closed your eyes again. For a split second it was easy to forget the hurt.

Because Roy is warm and safe, and he never wanted to hurt you. But for the life of you, what the hell split you both apart? You couldn’t recall because that stopped mattering. You’re both here now, and nothing could reach you when pulled into his muscular arms. This man is gorgeous in so many ways, the only thing you saw was the beauty of his soul rather than the Adonis-like vessel clothed in military garb so figuratively stained in blood and ash.

That night, you’d stay. You would change, nestle together in a blanket, talk, eat, drink and kiss. His lips were heaven. He felt the same about yours, and periodically nosed into your hair and held you firm to his chest while you trickled gentle touches from his ear to his collarbone, and rubbed the shoulders that carried the burdens of an entire nation.

Until finally, there were no tears left to cry.

Only kisses to be shared.


End file.
